Water and Oil (Stony)
by avengingpotter
Summary: For Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, getting along has never been their forte. They've seemingly detested each other from the moment they met before the battle of New York. But after the fight, after Tony nearly dies in front of the Captain's eyes, will they find a newfound friendship - or more - between them?
1. prologue

In the beginning, it was indifference.

Steve was completely unlike what his father so passionately described to Tony as being, and the latter was so much like Howard Stark that it aggravated Steve to no end. It was a reminder of both their pasts that each man longed to forget, pasts that still burnt them like a hot iron.

It was indifference that led the heroes to detest each other, to find the needle in the haystack and attack with it. To find the smallest fault in each other's actions and start a fight because they were angry, so angry, and didn't know how to let previous matters go.

They didn't want to let previous matters go.

Their patience with each other was tested highly during the battle of New York, but they managed to pull through it. After that, and after Tony nearly died, Steve's attitude toward the man calmed down substantially. He didn't get as irritated with the hero as he once did. Tony, on the other hand, acted as though nothing had changed. He was the same Tony Stark that he was before - arrogant and argumentative.

But nightmares plagued the both of them. This was nothing new for Tony, who'd been getting them since he had been kidnapped and nearly killed by the Ten Rings - the terrorist group that wanted his weaponry. But Steve? This was something uncharted for him. His nightmares weren't even about himself - they were about Tony.

Countless times he watched helplessly, body paralyzed, as the Iron Man plummeted through the air. Down, down, down he went, until he smashed into the pavement and his entire body was broken. Each time the arc reactor, having been ejected from Tony's chest on impact, would roll towards Steve's stagnant feet, blinking almost teasingly until the light faded entirely.

Each time, the Captain woke up screaming.

There wasn't much he could do but sit there in the darkness, drenched in a cold sweat, and try to convince himself that it wasn't true, it didn't really happen, that it was only a dream and Tony Stark was just several floors below him, probably working on his suits or drinking himself into amnesia.

What he wanted to do when this happened was go down to the garage and see the male, make sure that he was okay. Steve was protective of his teammates like that, but it was different with Tony. He couldn't even describe these bizarre feelings for the iron hero, and it was just another thing that frustrated him.

But Steve was foreign to this new, ever-changing world of technology and new customs and a society that was not as conservative as it once was.

Would he ever completely understand anything?


	2. chapter one

On a particularly dreary Wednesday morning, Steve found himself at the gym. This was not uncommon, as the blond man came here often to blow off steam. Nor was it uncommon that there were six punching bags lying defeated in the corner, their contents spilled over the polished wood floor.

What was uncommon, however, was that Steve had neglected to cover his knuckles with tape. Raw, angry and bleeding flesh was the result of this decision, but the hero barely noticed a thing. The pain encouraged him. It made the nightmare a little easier to forget.

It started off as usual - the battle of New York was coming to its end, and the Chitauri were dropping dead at the Avengers' feet. Tony had just realized that S.H.I.E.L.D's missile was heading straight for the city and he was en route to deter its path. He would send it flying into space, where it would explode but no civilians would be harmed.

Steve heard himself speak, but he hadn't made it happen. He was a prisoner in this memory, in this dream.

"Stark, you know that's a one way trip."

Tony responded with a joke, but the Captain could hear the unease in his voice. The Iron Man seemed to believe, too, that he would not be coming back.

Steve's heart was pumping in his chest as he watched Tony disappear through the atmosphere, heard the crackling in his earpiece as the billionaire's disconnected from the set. Panic set into both of them.

Just like he had done that fateful day, Steve closed his eyes and began to pray to the God he believed in.

 _Please make it. We need you, Tony. You're an arrogant bastard but you're smart as a whip and we couldn't have won this thing without you. Please come back._

Low and behold, Tony did come back. Natasha's cry of surprise made Steve's eyes shoot open again, and it wasn't long before they were focused on the Iron Man's descending body. He was getting closer now, but something seemed to be wrong.

"He's not slowing down." Thor said at the same time that the Captain thought it. He watched helplessly, his body refusing to move from his spot. It seemed that the others were in the same position.

Suddenly, he saw the Hulk out of the corner of his eye. This was different, as in his other nightmares Banner was always startlingly absent. But here he was, running forward to catch Tony, and Steve was beginning to think the beast might actually reach him in time.

But God, he was just a fraction of a second too late. The moment Tony hit the ground, the other Avengers disappeared. The hero's metal body shattered beautifully, sending bits and pieces of aluminum everywhere like a rainstorm. Steve felt something sticky on his face, and didn't have to reach up to know it was blood. His stomach gave a nauseous leap.

Suddenly he could move again. Captain America ran forward and collapsed to his knees next to Tony, who was a mess of blood and metal and even bones. The arc reactor was gone; blood was pouring out of the open hole in his chest.

Miraculously, Tony was speaking. Red liquid oozed from his mouth with every strained syllable.

"Steve, I love you," He was saying, brown eyes glassy with tears. "I'm sorry for everything. P-Please forgive me...for not telling you sooner..."

The Captain opened his mouth to reply, but he didn't get a chance to. Tony's mouth opened all the way, splitting the sides of it, and he screamed a sound so piercing that it had somehow woken Steve up.

He remembered this last detail of the nightmare now as he sent the seventh punching bag soaring across the room, sand erupting from it as it smashed against the wall.

"That's gonna be a bitch to clean up."

Steve started at the sound of the voice and spun around, ready to fight. He was met with the sight of none other than Tony Stark, hands raised in surrender.

"Whoa, there," The brunet said in defense, though not moving from his spot. "Just me, Capsicle."

There was that damn racing of his heart again, although this time Steve chalked it down to the scare he'd just been given. The adrenaline, too.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, panting as he wiped sweat from his brow.

"Fury needs us." Tony said, as though it were obvious. He crossed the room over to the pile of destroyed punching bags, surveying them with a frown on his face. "Remind me not to piss you off, okay?"

The soldier exhaled, a sort of dry laugh escaping his throat. "Sorry. I'll clean this up."

Tony waved his hand dismissively. "Ah, Jarvis'll do it. Won't you, big man?"

The AI's voice sounded above them in agreement, and foolishly Steve looked up. As if he'd see anything.

"See?" Tony said with a cheeky grin, and then motioned for the door. "Let's go. I'm stopping at Burger King on the way. You hungry?"

"Not really." Steve answered, and then winced as he felt a pain in his knuckles. He looked down only to be greeted with the raw flesh. "Shit."

"You okay?" The other hero asked, brow furrowing in what Steve thought to resemble concern. "You don't seem like you're on your A-game."

"Fine." He breathed, stretching out his fingers and then rolling them back into fists. _Anything but, actually_ , Steve thought to himself.

Tony didn't look convinced, but he knew better than anyone else (with the exception of Bruce, of course) to not press someone. It only escalated things, only made them worse.

"If you say so," He shrugged, pressing the button to call the elevator. "Anyway..."

Tony began to fill him in on the mission, but Steve for once wasn't listening. Instead, he was staring at Tony's chest, at the spot where he used to be able to see the faint, blue glow of the arc reactor through his light t-shirt, pulsing strong and steady. Only recently had Tony gotten it removed, along with the shrapnel that circled his heart for the longest time.

That fact along should have made the nightmares easier to deal with, but it didn't.

He followed the man along quietly, wounded hands still shaking.

This has to stop, **now**.


	3. chapter two

The mission turned out to be a rather simple one, far easier than any of their recent ones. They'd been called to detain a Czechoslovakian mafia leader, who'd stolen several missiles from the FBI and were planning an attack on a large metropolitan area that resided in the country. Natasha was excellent in translating for them. It was easy to get him to stand down. Almost too easy.

Tony made a sarcastic comment about how "Fury would be calling them in to rescue cats out of trees" by the looks of how mediocre things had been with the mission.

Steve managed to somewhat clear his head long enough to be able to focus on the task at hand, but as soon as it was completed he was back to fretting over the memories of the nightmare. His knuckles were bandaged up now, but they still stung faintly. That wasn't the worst part by a long shot.

Everyone seemed to notice he wasn't his usual self. Natasha had asked him what was wrong, but he brushed it off. Clint and Bruce were shooting him concerned glances the entire flight to and from Czechoslovakia.

It was driving him mad, slowly but surely.

Only Tony had bothered to act like everything was normal, which came as a surprise to Steve. He'd obviously suspected something was up with the man back at the gym, but inclined to keep his mouth shut up about it. Steve didn't know what to make of it.

Once they'd landed safely back at Tony's tower in New York, most of them scattered. Thor returned to New Mexico for Jane, Bruce retreated back to his lab, and the assassins made for the garage to pick out a car (with Tony's blessing, of course); it was date night for them, apparently.

The only two that remained were Steve and Tony, who didn't seem in all that much of a hurry to exit the helicarrier. In fact, Steve was still sitting in his seat, picking at the gauze on his hands and staring at the ground.

"Okay, you're wigging me out here," Tony said, breaking the awkward silence that was filling the air. He stepped closer to the blond, who looked up at him. "Something's up, Spangly. Something you don't want any of us to know. Thought we were a team."

Blue eyes narrowed as Steve met Tony's gaze, and he opened his mouth to tell him to shut up when he decided it wasn't a good idea, and closed it again.

Tony's expression softened so slightly that the Captain wouldn't have noticed it if he wasn't watching Steve's face so closely. "Steve... You can come to us, you know? We are a team. It's what we're here for."

Scoffing, Steve got to his feet. His bandaged hands were clenched into tight fists - he didn't need help. "I'm not a child, Stark. I can handle myself."

And with that, Steve left the helicarrier, feeling angry but also guilty for snapping at Tony like that.

After all, it seemed like the man really was trying to help him.


	4. chapter three

Steve left the helicarrier and went straight for the gym, where he found it spotless. One could never tell that he'd smashed seven punching bags in there.

But as he moved to set up another one, he found himself stopping in his tracks and staring down at his injured hands.

He was losing control. He wasn't spiraling out of control yet, no, but Steve Rogers was slowly going insane under the weight of all the tragedy and stress in his life.

He was terrified, to say the least.

Sinking down on a bench against the wall, he tried to figure out what to do. Asking for help wasn't an option - it was practically instilled in his being. Hell, even back in the old days before everything happened he never liked to ask for help. Not from anyone, not even his best friend Bucky. It was simple: Captain America was never supposed to need help. He could handle everything on his own.

That was what the serum was designed to do, right? Make him invincible?

But Steve Rogers, the scrawny guy from Brooklyn, wasn't invincible. He'd been knocked down too many times to count, but he always got back up again. Wasn't that what appealed to Dr. Erskine so much?

Sighing, the blond man dropped his head into his hands. He was at war with himself. He didn't even know if this was one that he could come out on top of, but he wouldn't go down without a fight.

As this thought crossed his mind, he wasn't sure if it came from Scrawny Steve or Captain America.

Maybe a little bit of both.

-x-

It was well after two in the morning when Steve finally dragged himself from the gym. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally, and the thin scabs on his knuckles had split during his destruction of three more punching bags. Blood was was seeping through the bandages. He made a mental note to change them once he'd gotten back to his room.

He was halfway down the hall to the elevator when he heard it. At first, he wasn't so sure it had been a real noise because he was tired and his brain was tired. But the sound grew louder and more desperate.

More alert now, Steve inched his way down the hall until he was standing face to face with the door to Tony's garage. The noise was louder now; it sounded like a man screaming. Curious and wary, he slowly opened the door.

He couldn't see anything but various cars and machinery, but the screaming was amplified now. With a shock, he realized that it was Tony. Fear pricked his skin and made the hairs on his arms stand up straight as he entered briskly into the room, searching for the hero.

Comically, all he had to do was follow the trail of empty, broken alcohol bottles. They led him straight to the couch, where a seemingly passed-out Tony was shrieking. The cry was gut wrenching.

"Tony!" Steve said hurriedly, moving to the man's side. He carefully placed a hand on Tony's arm, wondering if it was safe to wake him. "Tony?"

"Not him!" Tony screeched, and the syllables rang so loud and clear that it chilled Steve to the core. "Not him, please, God, St-"

And with a shuddering gasp, Tony's eyes flew open. He was drenched in sweat, his hand bloody from the scotch glass he'd crushed in his sleep. Steve jumped backwards, heart racing.

"Tony...?" He questioned in a whisper, afraid to make another move.

"Son of a bitch," The brunet swore, shaking the glass from his hand. "Fuck. What the hell..."

At any other time, Steve might have scolded Tony for his language. But the Captain himself was still taken off guard. He didn't know what to do.

Tony seemed to notice Steve's presence in the room, and he turned to look at the male. A low gasp escaped his lips when his eyes focused on him, and then he sighed. Almost as if he were relieved to see the blond.

"Jesus. S-sorry about that. Guess this scotch is some pretty shifty stuff."

For a few seconds, neither spoke. And then Steve cleared his throat.

"Are you... Are you okay, Tony?"

He waved a hand in dismissal. "Fine, fine. Just a nightmare. I get those a lot."

 _You're not the only one._

"Yeah," Steve breathed, eyes fluttering to his hands. "I know how you feel."

This seemed to be new information to Tony, but any inference he might have had wasn't voiced. He looked back to the blood, to his injured hand. "Yeah, well, sorry to bother you. Should probably clean this all up. Hey, Dummy?"

Steve was momentarily offended, thinking the billionaire was referencing him, but shook his head as the robot rolled over. It made several beeping sounds at Tony.

"Clean this up," He commanded, gesturing to the mess as he swung his legs over the side of the couch and started to stand up. "And make sure the blood doesn't- shit!"

Unsteady on his feet, Tony started to tumble to the ground. But Steve had sharp reflexes and was there to catch him. There was a solid moment where neither of them moved, neither of them uttered a sound. Then Tony looked up at Steve, and both their faces were nearly the same shade of pink.

Tony cleared his throat and regained his balance, pulling out of Steve's hold. He wouldn't look at the man.

"Anyway..." He said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "I should go to bed now... So... Goodnight, Gramps."

Before Steve could reply, Tony disappeared. Now only he and Dummy remained, the latter busily cleaning up the glass shards that littered the couch and floor.

It seemed to notice when its master had fled though, and turned its mechanical head toward Steve. It sounded almost confused when it beeped at him.

"I don't know what just happened, so don't look at me." Steve mumbled absentmindedly, his fatigue hitting him again. "I don't think Tony does, either."


End file.
